


I’ve Got You

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: StrikeFicExchange prompts [1]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 08:49:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18028619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: For excelsior_hallelujah, for a prompt in the Strike Fic Exchange.Cormoran and Robin go on another road trip, but this time there's only one room.... and only one bed ;)





	I’ve Got You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lemon_verbena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemon_verbena/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [lemon_verbena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemon_verbena/pseuds/lemon_verbena) in the [StrikeFicExchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/StrikeFicExchange) collection. 



> For excelsior_hallelujah, for a prompt in the Strike Fic Exchange.
> 
> Cormoran and Robin go on another road trip, but this time there's only one room.... and only one bed ;)

Robin pulled the BMW into a space in the hotel car park facing the open fields beyond the complex, and heaved a sigh of relief. She moved the gear shift to park, pulled on the handbrake and sat back, stretching.

Strike looked across at her. She looked tense, her face a little pale. “Thank you, Robin,” he said quietly. “You’ve done a lot of driving today. You must be tired.”

She nodded. “Looking forward to a large glass of wine and a big comfy hotel bed,” she said. “Let’s go and get checked in.”

They clambered out of the car, a little ungracefully in Strike’s case, both stiff, stretching tired backs and necks, enjoying the warmth of the early evening summer sun. It had been another scorching day, and they’d been glad of the BMW’s air conditioning. At least it was a little cooler now. They retrieved their bags from the boot - a smart little wheeled suitcase for Robin and a somewhat tatty rucksack for Strike - and made their way to the hotel entrance. The automatic doors swished open for them, revealing a smart carpeted foyer with a cafe bar to the left and a smart-looking restaurant to the right.

The tantalising smell of food drifted through from the restaurant and bar, the sounds of clinking cutlery, soft conversations. Strike realised suddenly how hungry he was. He caught sight of a waiter crossing the bar area with a plate of steak and chips, and knew what he was ordering.

There was no one on reception. They waited. Robin yawned, and Strike drummed his fingers on the desk impatiently. He could see several real ales on tap at the bar, too.

They waited some more.

Strike huffed crossly. “Let’s go and eat, and come back and check in,” he said. “I don’t mind having my bag in the bar with me, and I’m hungry.”

Robin nodded, yawning again. “I just need wine and sleep. And maybe chips,” she said.

They went through to the bar and found a table. Strike left Robin tucking her suitcase into a corner and went up to order drinks and fetch menus. He ordered a large glass of white wine for Robin and a pint of local real ale for himself.

It had been a long day. The half day conference in Lincoln had been in the afternoon, and their mark had indeed been there. But they’d had to leave London early in order to get to Lincoln in time to eat a quick lunch before the noon start. Robin had assured him she was happy to do all the driving, and Strike had let her, glad of the chance to rest his leg. It made more sense for her to drive, but now he wondered if he should have insisted on taking a turn. The conference had been hard work, tailing their mark from room to room without looking as though they were following him, passing him from one to the other via text. Robin hadn’t uttered one word of complaint all day, not even when she realised it was another hour’s drive to this hotel that was on their way back to London. But she looked tired now.

Strike returned to their table and passed Robin her wine. He held out a menu, but she waved it away. “Fish and chips, or whatever the nearest is, please,” she said, seizing her wine gratefully. Strike grinned and went back to the bar to order.

First drinks went down very well as they discussed their day and went through the photos they had taken. Strike was confident they had what they needed. Robin went to order more drinks before their food arrived. She was looking pink-cheeked already, having drunk a large glass of wine on an empty stomach after a tiring day, but Strike wasn’t going to begrudge her letting her hair down a little.

Their meals arrived, and silence descended on their little table as both tucked in heartily. Strike soon demolished his steak and chips. Feeling much better for a belly full of food, he went to order another pint. Robin was making her way more steadily through her meal and second glass of wine.

Strike returned to the table and Robin pushed her plate away, satisfied. She took another swig of her wine. “That’s better,” she said, grinning. “Feel a bit more human now.”

Strike nodded. “Me too. Here’s to a job well done,” and he raised his glass.

Robin touched her glass to his. “And a good night’s sleep in a lovely big hotel bed,” she said. “Oh, I hope they have super fluffy towels. I’m getting straight into a hot shower when I get to my room.” She sat back with a sigh. “Mm, wonder if I might look at the puddings.” She picked up the menu again and looked at it idly.

Strike took another long draught of his pint and tried very hard to think about puddings and not about Robin in the shower. He’d been more than usually distracted by her today, and couldn’t quite work out why. Perhaps it was the slim-fitting navy trouser suit that made her legs look so long and fitted so neatly over the curves of her her arse. Perhaps it was her slender hands deftly manoeuvring his BMW, fingers resting lightly on the steering wheel where his had so often sat, left hand clasping the gear shift. Perhaps it was being in the confined space together for so many hours, chatting quietly and chewing toffees. Perhaps it was just Robin. It was probably all of it. Whatever it was, it had left him feeling half in love and half aroused, as he so often felt around her these days. The strength of his attraction to her was starting to scare him sometimes. He’d hoped it would fade.

Robin tossed the menu back onto the table. “Do you know, I think I’d rather sleep than eat a chocolatey pudding, that’s how tired I am,” she said. She looked at her watch. “Is half past nine too early to go to bed?”

Strike smiled gently. “Not if you’re tired,” he said. “I’m pretty knackered too. Let’s go and get checked in.”

Robin nodded. She stood and gathered her coat and handbag and suitcase, and Strike hefted his rucksack onto his shoulder. They went back out to reception. Robin found a chair and sat, waiting, while Strike approached the desk. He’d made the reservations.

He was several minutes. Robin leaned back on the chair, her mind drifting, her eyes running over the cream-painted corniced ceiling, idly tracing the patterns. Her eyelids felt heavy. Two large glasses of wine and a plateful of chips when she was already exhausted had rendered her almost comatose.

Strike came and sat down next to her, bristling with anger. “They’ve given one of our rooms away,” he said crossly.

Robin struggled to focus on him. “What?”

“I booked two, and they have the booking, but apparently they start to give the rooms away if you haven’t turned up by nine. Someone took it fifteen minutes ago.”

“But we were here!”

“Yes, but they didn’t know that,” Strike said grimly.

“Can they do that?”

“Apparently it’s in the small print. We didn’t specify a late check-in when we booked. They’re offering a free night another time as an apology, for all the good that does us now.”

Robin sighed.

“We could go somewhere else.”

“Cormoran, we can’t. I’m in no fit state to drive, I’ve had two big glasses of wine. And you’ve had three pints. No way.”

She was right. Strike sat and tried to think of a solution. “I could sleep in the car?”

“Don't be silly,” Robin said. “Look, Cormoran, I don’t mind if you don’t. We’ve been friends for ages. And quite frankly, I’m so tired I’ll be asleep inside two minutes.”

“You’re not seriously suggesting we share?”

“We’ll be asleep. No one will know. Why not?”

“Because I snore.” _Because it’s you. In bed. With me. And— shit, I didn’t bring any pyjamas,_ Strike thought in horror. June had been so hot, he’d been sleeping naked in his stuffy attic room. He’d not thought to pack nightwear.

“You won’t wake me, I swear. I shall sleep like the dead tonight,” Robin promised. She stood, yawning yet again. “Come on. I just want to go to bed.”

Feeling as though he were in a dream, Strike stood and followed her to the lifts.

...

Strike sat on the edge of the big double bed in the admittedly rather nice room they’d been given on the second floor. The bed was huge and luxurious, with ivory and burgundy covers, piles of pillows and burgundy scatter cushions. The carpet was thick under their feet, the floor length curtains across the window a deep shade to match the scatter cushions. The lamps Robin had switched on before she turned the main light off lent a soft glow to the room.

He was now trying _really_ hard not to think about Robin in the shower, because she was, in fact, in the shower, just on the other side of the bathroom door. He could hear the water running.

He could see her case, open on the floor by the wall next to the side of the bed she’d gravitated to. The lid was propped against the wall, and he could see her book, tomorrow’s clothes, and a lacy black bra spilling out of it, the contents jumbled from her tired, slightly tipsy uncoordinated hunt for her sponge bag and nightwear. The items of clothing she’d taken to the bathroom with her had fitted neatly in one hand. He’d been desperately hoping for full flannel pyjamas.

She was slightly drunk, sleepy and soft, and would shortly be coming out of the bathroom freshly showered in what looked to be shortie pyjamas.

He was utterly doomed. Three pints of what must have been fairly strong local real ale, by the feel of it, had played havoc with his normally iron defences, and his libido was rising hopefully at the thought of Robin curled up in this huge, luxurious bed, fresh from the shower, pink-skinned—

 _Think about something else. Anything else._ Strike opened the bedside drawer nearest him and found the welcome brochure. He leafed through it, trying to concentrate on local tourist attractions and not how he was going to get through the next hour or so.

He was hot and flushed, but he wasn’t sure if that was the heat of a summer night, the temperature of the room, the alcohol in his system or his own body betraying him. He turned the page and read about a local pottery where you could decorate your own plate.

The shower switched off and his heart rate spiked. There was a long pause during which he _definitely_ thought about kilns and pottery wheels, and not about Robin drying herself on the huge fluffy towels she had been delighted to find.

He turned another page and concentrated on a local family-friendly farm with a small animal petting zoo and pony rides.

The door opened and he tried not to glance up, he really did, but he couldn’t help it. Robin padded back across the room, yawning, her hair in a towel. She was wearing a soft pink strappy vest top and matching shorts that surely couldn’t possibly be called nightwear. The top clung damply to the side of her breast, and he could see a strip of pink skin across her back as she bent to put her things in her case and grab her hairbrush.

“Bathroom’s all yours,” she said, and Strike jumped a little.

“Right, er, okay.” _Yes, good plan._ Grabbing his rucksack, Strike hastened to the bathroom and shut himself in. He was now shut in with the steam from Robin’s shower, the scent of her shower gel and body lotion, and the sight of her toiletries lined up by the sink. But at least soft, sexy Robin was now in a different room. And she’d never looked so sexy, all the more so because her tiredness and tipsiness had rendered her utterly unaware of it.

Strike sighed and looked around the little bathroom. The shower had the grab rails he needed. He switched it back on and stripped off his clothes and set his leg aside. Grabbing the safety rails, he cautiously manoeuvred himself in under the cascading water.

He closed his eyes under the hot spray, and images of Robin filled his mind at once, soft and glowing in a clinging vest top. His body responded immediately, surrounded by the scent of her, the thought of her, the images of her, and his cock which had been half-hard for at least the last hour swelled to attention at once. A groan escaped him as the familiar heat swept through him, aching, and his hand slid automatically to grasp himself, the other hand grabbing for the shower head above to hold him steady.

_You can’t do this here. Robin is literally just through that wall._

But what choice did he have? He wasn’t going to be able to leave the bathroom until he’d dealt with the problem at hand. And maybe after, his body would behave itself next to Robin in bed.

It didn’t take long, not with the thought of being in bed next to Robin filling his mind. Not with the memory of the way that soft pink top had clung to her breasts, the long length of her neck below the turban towel, the curve of her bottom in those little shorts. He’d always tried not to do this, not to think of her when he took himself in hand, to think of some actress or singer off the TV instead. But tonight there was no avoiding it. He was surrounded by her, and the temptation was too much, the pleasure too great when it was her in his fantasy as his hand slid on his straining erection. He bit back a moan as he came, and the rushing water hid the sound and washed away the evidence.

By the time he hopped cautiously out of the shower a few minutes later, he was feeling cleaner in some ways and dirtier in others, but hopeful that at least he might now be able to sleep. He dried himself off roughly, put on clean boxers and reattached his prosthesis. Pulling on a clean robe that had been hung on the back of the door, he finally left the little bathroom, his heart pounding, and approached the bed.

Robin was curled up on the far side, facing away from him, her breathing even.

“Robin?” he murmured, but there was no answer. He watched her for a few moments, then heard a soft snore. True to her word, she was already fast asleep.

Relieved, Strike shed the robe and climbed in next to her. He laid his rucksack on the floor next to the bed, with tomorrow’s clean shirt draped over it. He could pull that on as soon as he awoke, so at least he’d be wearing shirt and boxers rather than just boxers when they faced each other first thing. If it weren’t for the hot weather, he’d have brought a T-shirt to wear underneath it, that he could have been wearing now.

He reached out and switched off the bedside lamp. It was a touch one, so he had to tap it a couple of times, but then the room was plunged into almost darkness, lit by a sliver of moonlight slanting through the curtains. Strike lay on his back and closed his eyes.

Ten minutes later he opened them again. He had never felt more awake in his life, his body zinging with tension. His shower had done little to dampen his awareness of Robin, his longing for her. It had merely taken the edge off. He could smell her body lotion, feel her warmth radiating, feel the very living presence of her, breathing softly next to him. He could see the outline of her shoulder and cheek in the moonlight. How could he still be so aroused?

He had slept alone for so long, he told himself. He just wasn’t used to sharing a bed any more.

_Yeah, right._

The room seemed to be getting hotter. Strike sighed and rolled onto his side facing away from her. That didn’t make him any less aware of her.

Ten minutes later he rolled to face the other way.

This was a mistake. Robin stirred, disturbed by his movement, muttered to herself and rolled onto her back, flinging one arm and leg out of the covers, obviously hot too. She lay stretched out, the tiny top drawn taut across her breasts and rising up to display a strip of soft, smooth stomach and the indent of her belly button, one long leg extended towards him, her foot almost brushing him, her arm flung above her head on the pillow between them. Unable to stop his gaze roving over her, Strike suddenly realised he could see the soft shapes of her nipples beneath the pink cotton, and his cock began to swell again. With a low groan he rolled back over and faced away from her again, his hands firmly well away from his groin. In the shower was one thing. In the bed next to her...just no.

This was going to be a long, hard night, he thought ruefully. He sighed and closed his eyes again. At some point after he had counted what seemed like about a thousand sheep, he finally managed to fall into an uneasy, overheated, fitful sleep.

...

The sounds she made weren’t loud, but something in her voice, the panic, the high-pitched terror, made Strike’s brain catapult from asleep to high alert in a way it hadn’t done since his Army days. His right arm flailed for the light, managing to knock it on the second try, throwing dim light across the room even as he hauled himself half out from under the covers.

The room was empty save for the two of them in the bed. Next to him, Robin twisted, fighting the tangled sheets off, one hand at her throat, her eyes open but unseeing. Her voice was a strangled moan, high and frightened.

“Robin. Robin!” Strike’s voice, rough with sleep, was low but urgent as he leaned towards her, propped on his elbow, his hand reaching across to her shoulder. He shook her gently. “Robin!”

She blinked and suddenly her eyes were truly open, seeing him. Her breath came in gasps but she stopped making the awful noises. Her fingers scrabbled at her throat still.

“Breathe,” he instructed. “Breathe with me.” He knew the drill. He had had panic attacks, after the explosion that took his leg. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, and she took a couple of shuddering breaths along with him, and then abruptly burst into tears, reaching for him, clinging to him, folding herself into his chest.

Without even thinking about it, Strike slid his arm around her, pulling her close. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured into her hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

She was shaking all over, her breath coming in short, staccato bursts as she sobbed against him. Her right hand splayed across his chest and her left clutched his shoulder. He could feel her tears against his skin. He rubbed soothing circles on her back, and gradually she stilled, her breathing evening out and her heart rate slowing.

Quiet settled over the room. Neither of them moved. Strike was suddenly very aware that he was only wearing boxer shorts and Robin was in a vest top, tangled in the covers still. But the moment was so precious, he couldn’t bear to break it. He stroked her back gently, marvelling at the softness of her skin, at the glorious scent of her. His nose was still in her hair, and he breathed her slowly.

Robin breathed steadily, evenly, and her hands relaxed against him, her right moving just slightly against the thick pelt of his chest hair, her left sliding slowly, slowly down from his shoulder and along his arm, her fingers tracing the muscles in his bicep. There was a tense pause, and then her head moved just slightly and she nuzzled into his chest, burying her nose in his dense hair.

Strike’s breath hitched sharply as desire arced through him. Heat coiled at the base of his spine and his cock began to stir. Horrified at his body’s inappropriate responses, he tried to draw back, but her hand tightened on his arm and she made a little sound of protest, pulling him closer again, her face still burrowed against him.

There was a long pause, filled only with the sound of Strike’s ragged-edged breathing as he fought to conquer his arousal and offer the comfort she sought. Then with a little wriggle Robin pressed closer, her head tilting and her hand pulling him nearer so that she could tuck her face up into his neck. Another jolt of arousal pierced him, and then her lips parted and ghosted across his skin, sending a shudder through him, and a moan he couldn’t contain erupted from Strike’s throat.

She answered with a soft sound of pleasure, nuzzling his neck, smelling him, and her hand slid back up his arm and around his shoulder blade, caressing, exploring.

“Robin—” Strike gasped. Liquid heat poured through his veins and goosebumps washed in waves across his skin.

“Shh,” she whispered softly, and began to kiss and kiss his neck, her lips roving across him, and he was lost. Fully hard now, aching for her, he found his head tilting, offering her more access to his skin. His hand splayed across her back, drawing her closer, his breathing harsh and loud in the quiet room.

With a little grunt, Robin hitched herself up the bed slightly and buried her face in Strike’s neck in earnest, sucking her way down to his shoulder and biting gently at the juncture where neck and shoulder met. She nipped him sharply with her teeth, making him jump and moan. Then she licked at the little mark she’d made and he shuddered. His hand on her back slid down, stroking into the curve of her arse and dragging her against him, only the sheets tangled around her between them. With a huff of impatience, Robin kicked them free and hitched her leg over his hip.

“Robin—” Strike drew back a little, trying again to apply some brakes to things, to talk. She lay back against the pillows and looked up at him, her eyes meeting his properly for the first time since she’d woken, her pupils dilated with arousal and her gaze stormy, her breathing unsteady. She looked at him for a long moment, and then the hand that was around his shoulder slid up into his hair and dragged his mouth down to hers.

She couldn’t have been clearer in her intent. His defences overpowered, Strike surrendered. He kissed and kissed her, dizzy, lost in her, his tongue plundering her mouth, his hands on her back and on her bottom and in her hair, roving, feeling, desperate to know every inch of her. His whole body felt heavy, aching with desire. Robin’s arms twined around his neck and her leg hitched higher over his hip, pulling him hard against her.

Strike’s hand seemed to slide of its own free will from her arse around and up to her breast, cupping her, feeling the weight of her, stroking her through the soft cotton. She arched a little, pressing into his hand, and then his thumb rasped across her nipple.

Robin wrenched her mouth free of his with a deep, guttural moan that shot a bolt of lust straight to his groin. Her head arched back into the pillows, her chest pressing up into his hand, her leg tugging at his hip, her heel hooked around his thigh. “God, Cormoran,” she groaned, the first words she’d uttered since this madness, this terrible, fantastic idea had overtaken them.

Desperate to hear her make that sound again, Strike lowered his head to her breast, nuzzling and then sucking at her nipple through the cotton. Robin groaned and writhed beneath him, panting, rocking her hips against him, rubbing herself against his erection. Desire so powerful it was almost painful clenched in his groin. He was achingly hard, thrusting his hips back against hers, moaning under his breath as he sucked at her.

Robin’s hand slid from his neck to her own hip, pushing at her pyjama shorts. She whimpered, clinging to him and mouthing at his shoulder and trying to wriggle out of her clothes all at once. Strike helped her, pushing the shorts down so she could kick them free, and immediately her hands were at his waist, pushing his boxers down.

Strike thought dimly that he ought to say something, to slow things down, to talk to her, but then suddenly his cock was free and Robin was hooking her leg over him again, sliding her silken wet heat directly against his aching erection, and pleasure pulsed through him, pleasure so intense that for a moment he thought he might come just from rubbing up against her.

There was no stopping now. “Cormoran, please—” Robin gasped, pulling him over her, onto her, wrapping her legs around him and rocking against him desperately. Instinct took over, and he hitched himself onto his elbows and thrust slowly and surely into her.

Robin flung her head back with a low, groaned “yes” of relief and delight, bucking her hips up to his, her legs around him pulling him closer, deeper. Strike had lost all control now, thrusting into her, sobbing with pleasure and need, unable to stop. She dragged his mouth to hers again, kissing him deeply as they moved together, but within a few strokes she pulled her mouth away again, her head dropping back and a high drawn-out moan breaking into gasps as she convulsed around him, her muscles gripping his cock fiercely. With a choking groan Strike followed, his orgasm deeply intense as he pulsed into her, thrusting erratically and grunting into her neck, his eyes so tightly closed he could see stars.

Gasping, he shuddered to a halt, trembling, holding her close, his forehead on the pillow next to her, his cheek pressed to hers. Waves of pleasure rolled over him still, making his hips twitch, gradually receding. The room was quiet but for their ragged breathing. Robin clung to him, arms and legs, allowing no possibility of him drawing away, and he slumped against her, sweat-slicked skin between them, his softening cock still buried in her, their breathing slowing.

Strike lay on her, her arms still clinging to him, his body sated and humming with pleasure but his mind beginning to fill with panic. What on earth had just happened? It must have been barely fifteen minutes since she’d woken from her nightmare. How could he have have allowed himself to get so carried away? He should have had some control, been a gentleman, waited, talked about it—

“Cormoran,” Robin murmured against his cheek, her voice low and languid.

“Mm?” He tried to draw back a little but she clung to him tighter, holding him in place. He relaxed again, turning his face to hers slightly.

“Stop worrying. I can feel you. I wanted this.”

Strike kissed her cheek gently. “I lost control—”

“I wanted you to. I knew you’d try to resist.”

This time he did pull his head up, looking down at her. She looked incredible, her lips swollen soft, her hair a tangled mess, her cheeks flushed with pleasure, her eyes dazed.

“Only because I’d want you to be sure.”

“I know. I was. I am.”

There was a long pause as they looked at one another. Strike was very conscious of the fact that they were still joined together, that his boxer shorts were still across his thighs, that she still wore the strappy top. He’d not actually even seen her breasts. This had happened all backwards.

“So now what?” he asked softly.

Robin gazed up at him, her eyes full of fondness, of desire, of...love?

Then she gave him an impish grin. “How long do you need before round two?”

 


End file.
